Onus was the first to spot them. At his place at the crow’s nest, one eye held to his spyglass, his remaining five eyes blinking in confusion, he picked up what appeared to be an odd grey cloud. In itself, this was nothing strange. The etherium was littered with nebulas and star clusters and all sorts of moving, living masses that, for the most part, drifted by peacefully and left a body alone. In all his years as a spacer, however, Onus had never seen something move quite so rapidly, or shift so quickly from one shape to another. Pieces seemed to be breaking off and reattaching.

"Captain," he shrilled. "Is maybe something strange headed towards ship! You best have a look!"

From her place at the bridge, standing with her hands clasped behind her back, Captain Amelia shot a sharp glance up at her Zandarian lookout. He seemed to be in a state of great agitation, three eyes swivelling towards her as two stared off into the etherium and the last remained glued to his spyglass. Amelia knew full well that the man always seemed to be in a state of great agitation. Calmly, she requested a spyglass from her first mate, Mr. Arrow, who placed it into her hand with efficient silence.

Onus’s piping voice rang out as Amelia gazed out into the vast spacescape. "Is not making sense," he whimpered. "Why is so many of them in deep etherium?"

Amelia retracted her spyglass shut with a barely discernible, puzzled frown. "Why indeed," she murmured. Turning, she handed Mr. Arrow the spyglass. "Just for the sake of corroborating Mr. Onus’s findings and for validating my own sanity, could you please tell me what you see on the horizon, due north by northeast, Mr. Arrow?"

The rock man carried out his orders, lowering the spyglass with a puzzled look that rivalled the captain’s for subtlety. "They appear to be mantabirds, captain. A flock of mantabirds."

"Good man," Amelia said. "So it is." She raised her eyebrows. "Any idea why a flock of mantabirds would be flying about this far out into the etherium?"

Arrow had no reply, only a thoughtful settling and shifting of his jaws. Before he could think up something suitable to say, a third person had made his way onto the bridge. Lanky frame, overdressed in a rather shoddy suit, somewhat nervous astrophysicist. Dr. Delbert Doppler. Holding his glasses up to eye level, leaning forward against the railing, the doctor gazed at the approaching flock with a few ahs and mhms and one final sounding oh ho. Straightening, he gave Amelia and Arrow, each in turn, an odd, closed little smile.

"They appear to be, for lack of a better term, stampeding." He allowed a few seconds for Amelia and Arrow to blink, exchange quick, uncomprehending looks, and then resume their poses of unperturbed professionalism. The doctor drew back his coat sleeve and gazed thoughtfully at his wristwatch. "Moving quite rapidly, I may add. They should hurtle past the Legacy in approximately two minutes. Give or take."

In the few seconds it took Amelia and Arrow to fully digest Doppler’s unbelievable words, Onus had already rattled out a warning.

"Is coming! Take cover!"

So saying, he dove head first into the bottom of the crow’s nest, his tentacles reaching out to firmly clamp his wide brimmed hat down and around him. Below, a sense of disbelieving panic broke loose. The decks thundered as every member of the crew currently on deck scrambled for shelter, not fully comprehending the situation, but responding to everybody else’s sense of something having gone terribly wrong.

As they pushed against him, stumbling and sliding in their haste, Scroop, a tall, thin, spidery rigger, couldn’t help but sneer. Stretching out to his full height, the arachnid threw the crow’s nest a contemptuous look. "Onuss, you yellow bellied ball of goop. What could a bunch of crazy mantabirdss do to uss?"

No sooner had the words left his mouth than a mantabird crashed straight into him. It sent him rolling, the wind momentarily knocked out of him. With an impatient click of his claws, he pushed the creature away. Another swooped down behind it, followed by another, and another, and another. Cursing, dodging, Scroop crouched low, scuttling across the deck towards shelter, any shelter. Onus’s derisive laughter echoed in his ears as a mantabird swooped past above his head, a second bumping against his back.

The flock had descended upon the Legacy.

The crew were now frantic. Shielding their heads, they pressed against the masts, smaller creatures diving into spools of rope left on deck. Pops and wheezes and trumpeted whimpers were coming from Mr. Snuff, squished behind his artificial gravity controls, watching in alarm as mantabird after mantabird crashed against it. His fellow crewmembers raced past, shouting, attempting to press in behind him.

From his place along the floor of the bridge, Doppler gazed up in academic fascination at the incoming flock, his eyes wide and shinning, like a child’s. Seeing him, Amelia wanted to strangle the man. The space directly above the Legacy was now shadowed by the mad onrush of the mantabirds. They pressed forward in a sightless, grey streak that broke out into thumps and crashes as the creatures came up against the ship. The deck below was littered with the wounded, wings flapping weakly, some picking themselves right up and continuing on their way.

"Doctor!" she called over the din. "How long will this last?"

The doctor counted out on his fingers, his tongue peeking out between his lips. He looked up with a flustered, guilty expression. "Er, give or take five, maybe six minutes more. The flock can contain up to five hundred mantabirds."

Hearing him, Amelia wanted to laugh. If she wasn’t laughing already.
 
 

A loud thump woke Jim, sending him stumbling to the floor. It was followed by several more thumps, the thundering of feet above deck ringing through the galley kitchen. Pushing away from the counter he had fallen asleep over last night, he made his way towards the galley stairs, puzzled.

A thick grey blob smashed into the hatch, and Jim jumped back with a cry of alarm.

Staring up, he saw it was a creature of some sort. It hung in an unnatural slump, one fleshy strip of what appeared to be a tail hanging down, its soft, leathery belly exposed, red gashes running along its skin. Jim felt sick to his stomach. He clapped one hand over his mouth and fumbled his way back down the stairs. Nausea still clutched at his head as he knocked on the door that lead to Silver’s sleeping quarters.

At the sound of his knocking, the cook’s little pink shape-shifter squeezed itself out from the slit along the bottom of the door. It trilled happily and dove straight towards Jim’s cheek. The boy ran and absentminded finger down the blob’s body.

"Hey, Morph," he said. "Do yourself a favour and don’t go near the galley stairs." No sooner had he said these words than Morph suddenly burst into several, visibly perturbed pieces. It let out one shrill, deafening cry of horror and dove under Jim’s shirt. Jim wriggled involuntarily as Morph’s cold, slimy body slid against his skin. "I told you not to look," he admonished.

"Look at what, boy?"

Silver stood at the door, filling the entire space even as he slumped against the frame. His cyborg eye was still shut, and he wore only his breeches and a loose white shirt. He had just tied on a red bandana, but Jim could see his few wisps of hair were in sleep mussed disarray. The cyborg rubbed at his human eye and stifled a yawn, peering blearily at Jim as he repeated his question.

With a shudder, Jim pointed towards the galley stairs. Clumping his way across the kitchen, the cook gazed up at the dead creature without a trace of discomfort or fear. He rubbed at his chin with his cyborg arm, a grin splitting his lips. "Well, now, if t’ain’t a mantabird. Now how did it get here, I wonder?" He prodded at the dead body with one long metal finger, and Jim felt his stomach lurch again. Morph trilled and spread out into a shivering puddle across Jim’s ribs.

"Leave it alone, Silver," the boy pleaded. "It’s dead."

"Aye, that ‘tis," the cook chuckled. "Looks like several of its brothers an’ sisters be sharin’ the same fate."

Although his stomach still insisted on pressing up against his lungs, Jim’s curiosity was stronger than his fear of dead birds. Coming up beside Silver, he peered through the hatch. His mouth dropped in a silent gasp as he saw the current state of events on deck. Mantabirds swooped and dived and crashed and cried out, crewmembers huddled together under anything that provided shelter. The piercing, putout voice of Birdbrain Mary, tucked inside a spool of thick rope, rang out, cursing everything from the etherium to the mantabirds to the rope to some poor fellow named Squid who apparently forced her to join this crew.

Silver whistled. "T’were a lucky thing, weren’t it, that you and I be down in this here galley, an’ not up there?" He chuckled, hearing the raspy voice of Scroop rise in a long string of angry shouts as a bird smashed into him.

Jim pulled Morph out of his shirt, holding the miserable, shivering shape-shifter against his shoulder. It pressed against Jim’s neck as if holding on for dear life. "I don’t understand," Jim said thoughtfully. "Mantabirds seldom leave the spaceports. We got a couple’a stray ones swooping about Benbow every now and then, but never..." He cast a weary glance at the creature slumped across the hatch. Its belly was beginning to press against the slits in pulpy squares. Jim swallowed, hard. "Never like this," he finished hastily.

Seeing the obvious discomfort in both Jim’s pale face and Morph’s inability to remain in one whole piece, Silver reached up to the hatch and opened it. His intention was to push the dead mantabird away, spare the boy and Morphy the sight of it. Instead, the mantabird slid forward. It slumped onto the stair and hung down, its fleshy neck lolling from side to side, eyes glazed and staring. Jim took one look and felt his breakfast rush up to his throat.

As Jim rushed towards the sink—where he promptly puked his guts out—Morph burst into a shower of gooey, liquid misery, spraying Silver. The cyborg flicked away pieces of Morph, shaking his head in both guilt for having caused the reactions and good-natured shame in having such frightened lubbers for a cabin boy and a pet.

"Now, Jim, Morph," he said. "Issat any way t’treat the dead?"
 
 

Draping her coat over her head for protection, Amelia crawled on her elbows towards Arrow. Being made of stone, her first mate seemed unperturbed by the multitude of birds diving past his head. He seemed, however, to be in a great deal of pain whenever he heard one of them smash into something. Whether he felt sorry for the birds or the Legacy, Amelia couldn’t quite tell. She was willing to bet it wasn’t the birds.

"Well, Mr. Arrow, this is a right tight spot we find ourselves in," Amelia said. She had to bring her face close to Arrow’s, their voices drowned out by the cries and the flapping of the mantabirds.

"Indubitably, captain."

"What do you suggest we do?"

Arrow’s brows furrowed together, rock scrapping over rock as his face shifted. He let out a long, drawn-out hmm and shifted his gaze towards his communication horn. He spoke at length, his gravely voice slow and deliberate. "It seems to me, captain, that our gunner, Mr. Meltdown, should still be below deck, shielded from our current dilemma."

Amelia’s eyes, shadowed under the lapels of her coat, brightened. "Of course," she breathed.

Catching their words, Doppler scurried towards them on his hands and knees. "Captain, no!" he blurted out. "You can’t aim the laser cannons at the birds! You’d be shooting at the Legacy!"

The captain pulled Doppler down, a mantabird whistling past the spot previously occupied by his head. She gazed steadily at him with an air of cool superiority. "Doctor, you should really learn to control some of your outbursts. No one here has suggested training the laser canons on the ship. Mr. Arrow’s suggestion—correct me if I’m wrong, Mr. Arrow, please—is, quite simply, increasing the ship’s speed. Mr. Meltdown, if you’ll recall, doctor, also oversees the main generator."

Doppler blushed, attempting to bluster out a few words. All he managed was one weak oh. Amelia had already turned away from him, repeating her speech, in more technical terms, to Arrow. The first mate made his way carefully towards the communication horn, stooping once as a bird smashed onto the mast. It slumped against Arrow’s back as the first mate switched the communicator on.

"Increase speed," he boomed.

No response came. Arrow leaned closer into the horn, repeating his command with extra force. A crackle of static and a few thumps greeted his words. The high-pitched voice of the gunner piped up, laced with sleep. Vhatz going on? Arrow thundered out his orders for a third time, mindful of the way Amelia was beginning to slide a friendly glare towards Doppler. The astrophysicist had, after all, personally chosen their crew. Their highly insubordinate crew.

"Full speed, Mr. Meltdown!" Amelia called out. "On the double. I want this ship streaking across the etherium faster than I can dishonourably discharge you."

A peevish ja floated out, and within seconds the mast behind them had begun to hum, power racing along its core, firing up the thrusters and plumping out the sails. Several had tears, strips fluttering in the wind kicked up by the birds’ flight, but Amelia anticipated no problems once the thrusters fully kicked in. Arrow leaned into the horn again and called out a warning.

"All hands, secure! Speed increase in one minute and counting."

Amelia took the helm, amidst the annoyance of dodging the occasional diving mantabird. "Tighten artificial gravity, Mr. Snuff," she called out. One quivering arm snaked out from behind the gravity controls and tightened a lever. It disappeared in a flash. With a playful smile on her lips, Amelia directed a simple order towards Doppler, who crouched at the front of the bridge, pressed up against the banister.

"Brace yourself, doctor."
 
 

Amelia set down her afternoon cup of tea, aligning it carefully along the centre of its porcelain cup. With her left hand, she kneaded her temple. It would take several hours before the inconvenience and sheer unreality of the Legacy’s encounter with the mantabird flock would wear out. The crew was already hard at work repairing the solar sails, unfurling the replacements stowed in the storage hold in order to remove the ones beyond any hope of practical, long-term repair. No, it wasn’t the technical considerations; it was the confounding ludicrousness of the entire affair that still bothered Amelia.

"Oh, they’re going to have a field day with this one at the Interstellar Navy," she groaned, now kneading both her temples. "There she goes, headstrong Amelia. Too good for the Navy. Say, wasn’t she the one who got her ship attacked by a stray flock of mantabirds? Why so it is! Lovely. Just lovely."

A knock at the door drew her thoughts away from her mocking ex-colleagues. Arrow stood at the door, standing in a half-bow, waiting. She waved him in with a faint smile. It would be good to commiserate with Arrow. He found the entire situation almost as ludicrous as she did. Pushing away from her desk, she unlocked her cabinet, reaching in for a bottle of sherry she kept for special occasions. After all the fracas earlier that day, she felt both she and Arrow deserved a little treat.

He remained at the door, undecided. Amelia poured them both a glass of sherry. Her hand on the bottle, however, had grown tense. Arrow seldom hesitated, not unless there was good reason.

Amelia steeled herself. "Out with it, Mr. Arrow. Whatever it is, it can’t be stranger than what’s already happened today."

Arrow’s jaw shifted, the action imperceptible to anyone but Amelia. "I think you’d best come out onto the deck, captain," he said solemnly.

Glass in hand, Amelia followed her first mate. The etherium glowed luminous pink, tinges of orange and purple trailing across the distance. Looking about her—an uncomfortable premonition rising along her spine—Amelia noticed nothing out of the ordinary, at first. Then, slowly, as her eyes grew accustomed to the failing light, she saw what Arrow had brought her outside for. Her heart sank, her stomach hardening. Her sherry glass rested limply in her hand, forgotten.

"How...?" she breathed.

In the distance, still far away, but clearly visible to everyone onboard the Legacy, the flock of mantabirds advanced, their large, fleshy wings beating against the ether skies. They flew in formation, unperturbed, infinitely patient and begrudgingly majestic. Unable to tear her eyes away from them, Amelia downed her sherry in one gulp and addressed Arrow in a clipped, controlled tone.

"Mr. Arrow, meeting in my stateroom. Summon the doctor."
 
 

"Why are those birds still following the Legacy?"

Amelia sat at her desk, her hands clenched before her. Arrow stood behind and to the right of her, arms clasped behind his back, staring straight ahead. Standing at an uneasy half-slump, Doppler faced her with as much courage as he could muster. His hand, aimlessly trailing along the stitching of his vest, trembled slightly. He covered it with his other hand and cleared his throat, not for the first time. Amelia’s eyes remained steely.

"Well, you see..." he began. He straightened, attempting to draw himself out to his full, considerable height. "The truth of the matter, captain, is that I am an astrophysicist, not an etherium biologist. I can no more tell you what is drawing these cretins, er, creatures to the Legacy than any other man, or woman, on board."

Amelia pressed her palms together. "Quite so. Still, doctor, you remain the only true academic on board. We must get to the bottom of this matter. I simply cannot continue to sail this ship with those birds flying alongside her. They have already irreparably damaged two of our solar sails and dented the foremast, to say nothing of their effect on the crew’s moral."

As she spoke, her gaze drifted momentarily towards the floor length windows behind her desk. Three mantabirds flew peacefully beside them, calling out to one another in wavering, high-pitched trills and warbles. Every so often, one of them would break away from their formation and throw its weight against the side of the ship. The thumps had almost acquired a rhythm and a pattern. Thump trill thump thump warble thump.

Doppler’s brows furrowed together. His gaze had also drifted towards the mantabirds. Despite his earlier words, he found them to be majestic and strangely graceful. Worst fates existed than being assigned to study them. The problem was that Doppler had never really been all that strong in biology, beyond being able to identify almost every living creature in the etherium. His doctorate guaranteed sound astronomical knowledge, not the ability to figure out why birds usually confined to spaceports were suddenly, inexplicably drawn to their ship.

One hasty glance at Amelia’s stormy face told him she wouldn’t exactly accept his line of reasoning, regardless of how sound he found it to be. He cleared his throat and adjusted his already straight vest.

"Very well, then," he said. "I shall do my best. And just let them do their best."

Arrow’s voice held only a trace of humour, his expression impassive. "Their doing their best is precisely what we seek to avoid, Dr. Doppler."

Feeling that his presence was no longer required, Doppler backed hastily out of the door, stumbling once on the raised doorframe, his glasses almost slipping off his nose. Once he had straightened himself out with as much dignity as he could muster, he began to pace along the deck. To either side of him, mantabirds glided and flapped and called out. There were five hundred and thirty one, all told. He had counted them about an hour ago, as he took his solitary afternoon tea in his quarters.

Leaning against the railing, he gazed at them, long and hard. What had provoked their stampede? He had no idea. Why wouldn’t they just go away? He had even less of an idea. He pulled at his ponytail and screwed up his brow. He couldn’t think. He was still too embarrassed by the captain’s unperturbed efficiency. She always made him feel like such a dolt. He sighed, walking alongside the rail.

Barring the trills and warbles of the mantabirds, few sounds rose up around him. Nerves still frayed from that morning’s attack, most of the riggers and ropers and specialists were below deck, resting or spinning out tall tales about how they hadn’t been scared, not for one minute. Onus remained at his post on the crow’s nest, but he was dozing, his six eyes hanging limply over the edge of the lookout, his snores faint and wheezing. Jim had been on deck for a few hours after the stampede, mopping up the gunk and blood, Silver’s little pink blob trailing happily behind him, pulling itself into the shape of a mantabird, to the boy’s obvious, if good-natured, annoyance.

Now, all was still. The occasional cries of the mantabirds mingled only with the modulated, incessant hum of the Legacy’s main generator. It pulsed along Doppler’s subconscious, making him drowsy. Suspended in a state of half-sleep, he could swear the mantabirds were flapping to the droning cadence of the hum, gliding along beside it, dropping down to thump against the sides of the ship whenever that hum shifted in any way.

Modulated, incessant hum. Dropping down to thump against the sides of the ship whenever that hum shifted in any way.

With a sudden jerk and a gleam growing in his eyes, Doppler drew himself upright. "A modulated, incessant hum," he said, triumph creeping into his voice. "By the fluctuating, seismic waves of a supercharged nebula, that’s it!"
 
 

"The Legacy is their mother!" Doppler announced.

Words failed Amelia and Arrow. They exchanged one quick, confounded look, then turned their faces towards the doctor again. He stood at the stateroom’s entry, one hand still spread flat against the door he had flung open, the other held high above his head in a gesture of academic triumph.

Attempting to smooth out his hair, Doppler moved into the centre of the stateroom. His hands were in a state of great agitation, flying out in sharp, fluid gestures. The doctor’s voice stumbled out in a frenzied haste. "Well, not their mother, actually, no, just a paternal figure, a flock leader, of sorts, a guru, maybe, or maybe just an exceedingly eccentric professor with a tendency to inspire his students and send them careening down the campus lawns at all manner of ungodly hours and..." Doppler stopped, then proclaimed his theory, grandly. "The mantabirds believe the Legacy is alive!"

At a loss for words, Amelia threw a sharp glance out the windows. The mantabirds did look rather dewy eyed and submissive, now that the doctor had set her thoughts down that path. She turned to Doppler, her eyebrows riding high on her forehead. "What do you propose we do then, doctor? It is absolutely out of the question that we stop this ship. Neither can we simply turn her around and return to the Crescentia Spaceport."

Doppler finally succeeded in smoothing out his hair. "Actually," he said. "The solution is quite simple." Bristling under Amelia’s disbelieving look, Doppler continued. "The birds are attracted to the ship’s main generator. It produces a hum whose frequency is apparently similar to the bird’s own calls. All we needs do is change the frequency. In a word, either speed up or slow down." He frowned. "Well, six words, at that."

Arrow ran a hand along his chin, rock scrapping over rock. "Seems logical enough."

"Academically logical," Doppler said, puffing out his chest. In the space of less than two seconds, he had shifted back into his usual half-slump. "There is one small matter of concern, however."

Amelia clasped her hands in front of her. "It seems to me that this entire day has been made up of nothing but small matters of concern. They tend towards causing the most damage." She sighed, resigned to the altogether unpredictable nature of the situation. However ridiculous the doctor’s words sounded, they were the first step towards a feasible solution. "Get on with it, doctor. What is this small matter of concern?"

"I have, um, no way of predicting how the birds will react once the frequency has been changed. They may scatter away in fright, or they might just, er..."

Amelia finished his sentence in one quick jab. "Attack the ship."

The doctor twisted his hands into a knot. His voice sounded peevish. "Precisely."

Pushing away from the deck, the captain came to stand by the windows. Arrow moved to stand close behind her. The doctor, uncertain but sensing that it was required, came up beside them. All three looked out in silence at the birds. They seemed so peaceful, so harmless. Amelia spoke at length.

"Although it is against my better judgement, we should arm the crew."

Doppler’s eyes widened in alarm. "Surely you don’t mean to shoot the mantabirds?"

"It’s either that or risk the destruction of this ship. If the mantabirds die, nature will simply take its course. If the Legacy is destroyed, we face days stranded in the etherium at the very least, death at the worst." The captain shook her head in a manner that indicated that her decision was final. "No, doctor, I simply cannot take that risk and endanger the lives of this crew, however unsavoury I find the lot of them. We must arm the crew."

For a few minutes, silence hung in the room, broken only by the sound of the captain’s heels clicking along the polished, wood floor. Then, unexpected by Amelia or Arrow, Doppler’s voice rang out.

"No!" he said. "I will not allow it. I simply can’t let you kill those birds. If it is your duty as captain to protect your crew, then it is my duty as a man of science to protect these creatures." He stood straight, his face sterner than Amelia had ever seen it. "As a scientist and as the financier of this voyage, I object, no, I forbid the destruction of those birds."

Although his voice wavered slightly, it carried an edge Amelia couldn’t help but admire. The doctor could be quite formidably impressive when he set his mind to it. She didn’t doubt he meant every word he said, even if they were impractical. She exchanged one quick glance with Arrow. Her first mate nodded, once. He had also been impressed. Amelia relaxed the stern set of her shoulders.

"Very well then, doctor. What do you propose we do instead?"

Doppler remained silent for a moment. His recent bravura seemed to be slowly draining out of him. Suddenly, his head snapped up.

"Captain," he said. "How powerful are the stun pellets on this ship’s weapons?"

"Powerful enough to knock me out for three hours," Arrow intoned.

Ignoring the disturbing ring of that comment, Doppler turned a triumphant smile on Amelia. "That’s it, then," he said, growing excited. "We’ll just stun the pretty little things!"
 
 

Arrow stood at the bridge of the Legacy, directing a potent glare at the deck below. Gathered along it, the crew stood in a tense attitude of waiting. All crewmembers had been outfitted with four guns, each with seven stun pellets. It made both Amelia and Arrow uneasy, but, as a small consolation, they rested assured in the knowledge that none of the crewmembers could kill either them or each other. Any attack they’d be foolhardy enough to attempt would also be duly expected, and therefore avoidable. Regardless, Amelia had instructed Arrow to keep a close watch on everyone.

Standing by Silver’s side, fingering his guns with undisguised awe and interest, Jim couldn’t help but resent Arrow’s glare. Although the bulk of it was aimed at Scroop—who glared right back—a great deal of it also seemed to be trained on him. Jim had to wonder what Doppler had told the captain and her first mare about him. Probably painted him out to be a hardened criminal.

Stretching, Silver stifled a yawn. "Quite a day this has turned out t’be, eh, boyo? First ye get woken up by a stray carcass, an’ now here ye are, about to do some shootin’." He threw the boy a crafty glance. "Ye ever used a gun before, pup?"

Jim attempted to twirl the gun on his index finger. "Oh, yeah, piece of cake." It clattered onto the deck, sending Morph into a flurry of delighted explosions and bangs. Jim winced. He had only ever shot at little wooden fair ducks.

"No better time like the present t’learn ye, then," Silver chuckled.

As he guided Jim through the finer points of loading and aiming and squeezing the trigger and making sure the shot flew true, Doppler stepped out onto the deck. Jim mistakenly fired out a shot, and Doppler found himself having to dodge, the pellet whistling past his head and lodging itself on the wall behind him. Silver roared in laughter, joined by every other crewmember, including a reddening but excited Jim. Only Amelia and Arrow—and Doppler, who was checking to make sure no parts of his head were missing—remained impassive.

"Mr. Hawkins and Mr. Silver," Amelia said coldly. "I expect you to comport yourselves in a much more professional manner."

Silver doffed his hat, scrawling a crooked grin along his face. "Shan’t happen again, cap’n. Jest takes a bit of getting used to."

Amelia’s steely expression did not change. "Then I suggest you acquaint Mr. Hawkins with a gun’s proper use during the indicated time, least his getting used to it manages to also waste his remaining stun pellets."

Bowing, pulling Jim behind him as the boy visibly bristled under the captain’s words, Silver placed his hat back on his head and called out a few pleasantries that ended in no, cap’n, won’t happen again, m’am. Drawing both himself and Jim as far away as possible from the captain’s line of view, he pressed a stun pellet into the boy’s hand.

"So’s ye’ll get yer chance at all yer shots," he whispered, winking.

Jim loaded the pellet, still rankling under the captain’s contempt for him. He felt grateful to Silver, however, and gave the cyborg a friendly, questioning look. "What about you?"

The cyborg gave Jim a wide, gap toothed smile. "Jimbo, d’ye think I need this lil’guns here? Have ye forgotten who yer speakin’ to?" He raised his cyborg arm, and Jim grinned. "Why, I’s gots me more stun pellets in here than the whole of this crew." He leaned forward in a conspirational whisper. "Ye can have one a’me guns, boy. The etherium only knows why Mr. Arrow gave me some t’begin with."

At this, Amelia’s voice rang out. "Alright, men. In approximately three minutes, Mr. Meltdown will increase the speed of the Legacy. At that point, according to the good Dr. Doppler, there will be a small matter of concern." A faint smile tugged at her lips before she continued. "Namely, the mantabirds will either scatter and leave us all blessedly alone, or they will attack this ship. If, and only if, they attack the ship, you are to open fire and stun them."

Stepping back, she nodded at Arrow. The rock man leaned into his communication horn and once again addressed the gunner below deck. "Increase speed by two points!"

The ship shivered, once, the subtle change in speed registering as a moment of slight disorientation that skittered along the deck. During the moments that followed it, everybody held their breaths. Standing close to Jim and Silver, Doppler gazed steadily at the mantabirds, watching for any shift, however slight, in their flight pattern.

"Nothin’ seems t’be happenin’, doc," Silver whispered, his voice low, no less a part of the hushed expectancy that gripped the other crewmembers.

Suddenly, Doppler gave a start. One hand rose up to point at the mantabirds. "There!" he squawked. No sooner had the words left his mouth than the first mantabird threw itself against the starboard side. The others soon followed, the space above the crew’s heads darkening as the flock drew together for the attack. With trembling hands, Doppler aimed at one of the birds. Before he could squeeze the trigger, eyes firmly shut, several other shots rang out before his. One whistled past his elbow, and he nearly jumped out of his coat.

"Sorry," he heard Jim mutter. Doppler made a mental note of personally teaching the boy how to shoot.

Shots continued to crack and pop out all around him, till he couldn’t even hear himself think. He dearly hoped there was a method to the apparent madness. Several of the crewmembers were laughing, clearly relishing the chance to handle a gun, to shoot at something, anything, even if it was only with stun pellets. With considerable surprise, he noticed that Amelia was one of merry gang of laughing crewmembers. As Jim ran past, grinning widely as he aimed and shot at a mantabird high above him, Doppler felt certain that any remaining desire to handle a gun had been fully knocked out of him.

It was then, as he distastefully threw his gun away from him, that the implications of Jim’s actions struck him. Aimed and shot at a mantabird high above him. Doppler blanched. With a frantic yelp, he ran towards the space directly below the bridge. Cupping his hands around his mouth, he called up to Amelia, his voice cracking.

"Captain! One other small matter of concern!"

Amelia dispatched three smart shots and looked down at Doppler. "Indeed?"

Doppler pointed above him, then down at the deck in one movement. "Every single bird currently affected by this ship’s artificial gravity is going to come crashing down!"

Amelia’s eyes widened. Those blasted birds, they had riled her up so much that her capacity for clear thoughts had clearly taken a holiday. She cursed at her own lack of foresight. Pulling out her third gun, she aimed at a bird well beyond the ship’s deck. "Confound these bloody things!" Turning her head, she threw a meaningful glance at Arrow.

The rock man’s voiced thundered out. "Heads up! Incoming!"

Within minutes, the deck had broken out into pure, unadulterated pandemonium. Crewmembers alternately shot at the mantabirds and dodged and rolled and jumped clear out of the way as inert body after body began to crash down. With a yelp, Doppler dove for cover inside a barrel. He cried out in shrill, panicked alarm as a mantabird crashed down right on top of it, its limp head hanging down towards the doctor.

Staring at its beady, glazed eyes, Doppler passed out.
 
 

With a grunt, his back burning from the strain, Jim heaved the last of the stunned mantabirds overboard. It floated out slowly towards the thick grey mass that was its flock members. Jim watched as its fleshy, oily body undulated and bounced against the others, and he felt the nausea from that morning threatening to make a comeback. Hovering at his shoulder, Morph turned an interesting shade of green. Jim clapped a hand to his mouth and firmly told himself not to think about it.

The chance to think about something else presented itself in the form of Dr. Doppler. The doctor leaned against the railing and looked out quietly at the mass of comatose birds. He seemed both pleased and shamed by the sight. Watching him, Jim couldn’t help but feel guilty, remembering the glee with which he had shot at them.

"They’re going to be alright, aren’t they...?" he said.

Doppler gave a start, as if only just realizing that the boy was there. He gave him an absentminded smile. "Why yes, they will be. Before outfitting the crew with guns, Amelia allowed me to send out one small but important communication." Turning his head, he smiled kindly at the stunned birds. "We just so happen to be very close to the Szpilman Nebula."

At Jim’s blank stare, Doppler elaborated. "The Szpilman Nebula is only a few miles away from the Brodian Space Laboratory. A colleague of mine, Dr. Yehuda, from my days at the Cerulean Space Station, is currently stationed there. Excellent astrophysicist, wicked tidily winks player." Doppler chuckled heartily at the memory, wiping away a tear, completely unaware of the bemused looks Jim and Morph exchanged.

"Anyway," the doctor pressed on. "To make a long story short, Yehuda will be sending out a small team of etherium biologists stationed with him, and they will make sure that the mantabirds are returned safely to their natural habitat, where, bless them, they will be a nuisance to every sailing ship except the Legacy."

Smiling, he reached out to pat Jim’s head, so wrapped up in the glory of science that Jim’s thoroughly annoyed glare at being treated like a child whistled right past him. "So, you see, young Jim, there’s no need to worry. The worst that could befall these mantabirds now is the possibility that Yehuda’s team may decide to do the only scientific thing that can be done in situations such as this: Study them."

With that, whistling to himself as he walked along the deck, still gazing at the peacefully floating birds with an odd, kindly smile, Doppler walked away. Jim watched him go with a resigned shake of his head. Morph trilled and shifted into the cup and flat disks of tidily winks. It gurgled happily, shifting into Doppler and a mantabird and a nebula, trailing after Jim as the boy made his way towards the supply closet and pulled out the ever-demanding Mr. Mop and Mrs. Bucket.

Silver found him as he worked his way across the portside. The cyborg bent down to inspect Jim’s work, rubbing at an errant smudge, then whistled for Morph. The little blob warbled, swooping towards Silver’s cheek, where it busied itself shifting from tidily winks to Doppler to Jim to a mantabird to a mop.

"Ablast me if I ain’t seen one too many odd things in this world," Silver said. "Them mantabirds gave us a real fright, didn’t they, Morphy? I never did see so many birds jest droppin’ from the skies." He grinned. "Making such a mess."

Jim threw out a humourless little laugh. "And here’s the cabin boy to clean it all up."

Silver clapped him on the shoulder, not unkindly. "Ah, cheer up, boyo. At least ye ain’t havin’ t’make do with what I’ve been given."

The boy looked up sharply. Something in the way the cyborg’s eye was shining, his lips quivering under the strain of not grinning, told Jim he didn’t want to hear what was coming next. Silver spoke plainly, silent laughter sliding across every word.

"Soup’s on tonight. Mantabird chowder."
 
 
 
 

Author’s Note:

8 March 2003. A bit of humour. After completing Building an Escape Route, I felt as if I needed some levity. Attacking mantabirds seemed silly enough. As I wrote this, I kept envisioning it as a cartoon episode, from a wishful-thinking Treasure Planet TV series [although I’m really quite mixed about whether I would like this to happen or not].

Light, airy, hopefully funny.

Oh, and kudos to anyone who has actually played tidily winks, picked up on the overall Star Trek-ness of this story, and correctly identified the names Szpilman, Yehuda, and "Brodian" [e.g. Brody] from the motion picture The Pianist. My roommate is a big Adrien Brody fan, and I wanted to give her a sort of wink and wave.
 
 

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© 6-8 March 2003 Team Bonet. Treasure Planet is © 2002 The Walt Disney Co. The characters of Jim Hawkins and John Silver are © 1881 Robert Louis Stevenson.